


Hindsight

by Pavlovs_Birdcage



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, WCKD is a cult, non-linear timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2019-07-20 11:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pavlovs_Birdcage/pseuds/Pavlovs_Birdcage
Summary: They didn’t catch it the last time. They missed all the signs.Too caught up in their own lives, they forgot what it meant to be good friends and they lost focus for only a moment. And it only took a moment before it was too late to catch Newt when he fell.Now, they have a plan.AU: After realizing they missed Newt's mental health deteriorating, the Gladers work hard to make sure they are prepared to lead him back from the edge if he ever finds himself there again.





	1. The New After

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I hope you do enjoy the beginning of this work.  
> Please note, there is significant discussions of mental health including, depression and attempted suicide. Please protect yourself if this makes you uncomfortable. 
> 
> Thank you!

 

 

They didn’t catch it the last time. They missed all the signs.

Too caught up in their own lives, they forgot what it meant to be good friends and they lost focus for only a moment. It was leaving a glass on the edge of a table, or taking your eyes off an infant on a bed; it only takes a moment. And it only took a moment before it was too late to catch Newt when he fell as well.

 

Freedom stretched the tethers of their friendship to the point where some of the connection lines were almost too thin to be considered anything other than acquaintanceship.

Even those that spoke once a day, in their cliques, seemed to have missed Newt’s little behaviors that would have been red flags to any other onlooker.

 

As Thomas, lay on the couch, one arm wrapped around Newt and his eyes on the television, he thought of those red flags. He thought of the random people that had come up to him and some of the other Gladers, as they were called, expressing their concern over the young man in his embrace. Each of them went on about how they had seen this coming, or how they were so worried about him in the weeks leading up to his hospitalization. The fact that there were signs at all was the second shock to the Gladers that night.

 

_How had they seen so much while Thomas and the others had be so sure there was nothing to see at all?_

Thomas’s memories of that night were burned into his skull.

_The edge. The screaming. The shining white of bone._

 

Now, they have a plan, a communication network, and supplies. Like a command center and a team of bodyguards, they were always watching and always prepared to rush in when needed, all for their friend. The next time Newt finds himself on the edge, they are ready to lead him back to safety, or to catch him. Thomas, being Newt’s boyfriend and closest friend, made it his personal duty to protect him, and take his watchful eye to the next level.

 

As Newt slept, his body pressed against Thomas’s, it was clear that his face was so much more relaxed than it was a year ago, but Thomas only knew that because of how attentive he had been since then. The fact that he only recently started paying attention to these kinds of things being one of his greatest regrets. His habit of watching the other man’s eating, his behaviors, and studying his form, has become mindless and as natural as breathing since the incident. Eying the sleeping man’s breathing as well as his skin pallor, he contemplates how everything he sees is a significant improvement from before.

 

* * *

 

 

**_6 months ago._ **

Newt shot out of bed, his feet were on the ground and his hands were in front of him before his brain even caught up. By the time he came back to himself, he recognized the room around him as being his bedroom inside of his cozy apartment. He was safe.

 

The giant cement walls that plagued his nightmares were gone from view, and he was miles away from that place.

 

He was safe. His friends were alive. WCKD was gone.

 

All of this, he knew, but yet, the night terrors continued, and so did some other residual trauma symptoms. It had been a full year since the compound was raided, and while the calendar dates fell, progress towards any sense of normal for Newt, was either too slow going, or non-existent.

 

Since he was a child, he had been raised in a glade, surrounded by cement walls. The crude shelter inside the compound was made by the hands of the children locked inside the compound with him. They called themselves the “Gladers.”

 

The Gladers, like him, were taken a young ages and locked away in what they came to find out later, was a social experiment. Yes, some sick people, who they would later learn were called WICKD, observed them like rats in a maze for years. Speaking of the maze… the cement walls did more than just line the edges of the compound, they also formed a maze around the glade, the purpose of which, was still a mystery.

 

They had been freed only two years ago, in a haze of gunfire and smoke. He remembers him and Thomas carrying an injured Minho through the walls and into the arms of awaiting Federal officers.

 

This nightmare was about that day. However, instead of Federal officers, it was the hands of WICKD that had grabbed him and the others, dragging them into parts unknown.

 

Newt moved his still shaking hands to his phone on the nightstand, glancing at the time. Lord, his heart seized, he has slept until three in the afternoon! His apartment was a mess, he had only been putting about thirty percent of his energy in his job, he was on trend to becoming a social recluse, and now, to top it off, he was sleeping well into the afternoon.

 

He was disappointed in himself, and immediately, he felt the bitter cold as it travelled up his arms and settled into the empty hole that was his chest. Already prepared for the normal symptoms that accompany his level of self-loathing, he reached for the hoodie on the floor by the bed and threw it over his head, attempting to stave off the cold.

 

At some point while he readied himself, he received an invitation via text to go meet the Gladers at a local restaurant for an early dinner. The boys in the compound with him had grown to be young men, who became his friends. After all they had been through, they stayed tight knit and enjoyed each other’s company, even now that they were free of WCKD’s gaze.

 

Unfortunately, as the years went on, it seemed that his love for his friends was becoming more one-sided, and the love that he funneled through their bonds, was not returned. Studying the texts on his phone, the more he saw the invitation for what it was- an afterthought invite. Most of the group had been hanging out since the morning, and had stopped in the town nearby to Newt’s apartment, from what he could read in the texts. It seemed only by convenience he was invited at all. Clearly, one of them had noticed they were in Newt’s town, and thought to invite him as an afterthought.

Why they didn’t think to invite him to their morning adventure- whatever it was- was beyond him.

 

After a quick shower, which consisted of him staring at the tile wall more than actual washing, he was out the door.

 

When he arrived at the restaurant, he said his “hello’s” to the seated group in the middle of one of Frypan’s entertaining, yet, embellished stories, so the Gladers didn’t give him much pause. Their various head nods, and Thomas’ hand grasping his to pull him down into the seat, were the only greetings he received.

 

Focusing in on the conversation, which volleyed back and forth between the odd encounters that everyone except Newt, experienced that morning, and commenting on the food, Newt remained quiet. He tuned out the actual words, choosing instead to funnel his attention onto more important things…like reading that ketchup bottle. If anyone noticed the strangeness of his behavior, no one commented.

 

At some point however, Winston leaned forward and struck up a conversation with him. As they discussed, he could feel Thomas’s eyes and smile on him.

 

“-You should totally watch it. Not much for plot, but great entertainment…” Winston spoke about a television show he was currently binge watching. As he continued, the other Gladers around him tuned into the conversation and added their own perspective. Newt still had not said much. Instead, as he moved his gaze to Winston’s right shoulder, he squinted his eyes at a figure in the back of the room, a few yards behind their table.

 

The atmospheric lighting in the restaurant made it difficult to make out details, but he knew that the figure stood out in a bad way. Among the casually dressed individuals seated or crowing the bar, the male figure stood encased in shadows, wearing unwashed work pants and a filthy shirt, stained rust brown in patches around his torso. The head was encased in shadows that fell like a veil over him, blocking his face from view, but Newt identified him immediately. Like a light bulb turning on, he connected the dots. Those rusty stains were blood, and those pants were the ones Newt clung to as WICKD dragged the body of his best friend away. He knew without seeing that underneath that shadow was a bloody head would, and dead eyes.

 

_Alby._

 

Immediately, he yanked his hand back from Thomas’ hold, standing up and nearly knocking over his chair in the process.

 

“Newt?” Thomas asked, displaying the same concern and confusion as the other men around the table.

 

“I- I gotta… “ His speech stumbled as he looked around. “-go take a piss.” With that, he left the table, walking towards the bathroom, straight where Alby stood only a moment ago.

 

Practically throwing himself into the bathroom, Newt looked around, completely aware of the ridiculousness of his current predicament, as he sought out the figure of his deceased best friend.

 

“I’ve completely lost my mind.” He rasped to himself, running a hand down his tired face. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he recognized the shape of the face as his own, but his pallor, the bags under his eyes, and the taught skin, was a new observation. What disturbed him most was the lack of light in his eyes. Was this visible to others as well? Did Tommy see this?

 

What an embarrassment. More shame filled him, as he thought of the scene he had made in the restaurant. Everyone else that was sprung from that glade was perfectly functioning and drinking beers in the next room, yet here he was having a meltdown in the lavatory.

 

Moving to the sink, he splashed cold water on his face, hating the feel of it against his skin, and the shunting of his blood back to his core and away from his extremities from the chill. He dared a glance back to the mirror, hoping to see a more flushed and lively face in the mirror, only to be sent stumbling back at the image of Alby behind him.

 

Alby’s face was slack, and blood crusted to his head. The familiar dirt of the glade covered him, coated in a layer of grime that came with heavy sweat and the stink of fear as he ran for his life that final time before being killed all too suddenly. His eyes, however, were clouded with white, but stared at him with a fiery gaze.

 

Spinning wildly, Newt turned and faced only air on the opposite wall. Any sign of the other man was gone. Newt’s heart, however, had yet to slow down, and he gasped for air like a fish.

He stood there, frozen and breathing heavily until the bathroom door opened again and Thomas walked in.

 

“Newt?” Thomas asked gently, as if speaking with a baby deer., recognizing the other’s odd behavior. “Baby, you okay?” He reached out, cupping Newt’s face with his hand.

 

Newt, forced composure, and nodded, leaning into the other man’s touch. “Yeah, I’m fine Tommy.” _I’m not fine._

 

Thomas did not look convinced.

 

“The food just didn’t settle with me is all.” He twitched a smirk onto his face, and tried to calm his boyfriend. “I’m fine, Tommy.” He pressed, reaching out a hand and running it up the other’s arm.

 

“Okay. Just making sure.” Thomas smiled, leading Newt back into the restaurant. No one said anything about their return, and Newt took it as a blessing as he immediately picked up his glass and began to gulp down the cool water. In front of him, his plate sat, still full of food and untouched, as it would remain.

 


	2. New After, Old Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Thomas begin to get used to the new normal and are reminded that recovery is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Crawls out of a dark cave* What day is it!?

**_Present._ **

 

From: Thomas [12:30 PM]:  Roll Call.

                                           We both ate. Hanging out. Newt’s asleep.

 

From Group Text: Minho [12:32 PM]: Went to gym this morning.

                                                          He slept after our work out yesterday.

 

From: Gally [12:30 PM]: I ate, mom. My pee smells like asparagus. 

                                     He could be coming down with something.

 

From: Winston [12:30 PM]: TMI Gally!

                                           Just woke up. Going to eat soon.

 

Thomas laughed at the stream of texts flooding into his phone. Since Newt’s episode, they started a daily roll call so they would all be aware of each other’s status. Newt’s situation was a wake up call for all of them to be more aware of each other’s health- both physical and mental. Although some, like Gally, saw it as tedious and intrusive to give the regular updates, they recognized that the main focus of the group text was to keep whereabouts of Newt. Of course, Thomas knew that if Newt ever found out they were keeping tabs on him, he would be furious, so instead he changed it to an opportunity where they should all give their own status as well.

 

Never again would they miss those signs of deterioration in one of their own.

 

Newt stirred in his arms, and began to turn his face towards Thomas.

 

Those beautiful eyes opened and Thomas saw the moment they focused, pushing out of the pool of sleep to gaze upon his face, which was pressed in close.

 

“Hey Tommy.” Newt whispered in his raspy sleep-voice, and turned his body to press chest-to-chest to his boyfriend’s. His hands fiddled with the blue night shirt Thomas wore, and he inhaled his soft scent. “Did you get any sleep?” He asked curiously, remembering that Thomas had been on his phone long before he started to drift off in the middle of their television marathon, only to still be on it.

 

“No, Baby.” He leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. “But, I’m glad you did.” Thomas felt Newt take in a deep breath, and a smile tug at the corner of his lips. He knew that Newt practically preened whenever he called him his “baby”. It was the most clichéd, but meaningful endearment between them, and it stuck since the first time he said it.

 

“I could lay here all day.” Newt snuggled deeper into the couch cushioning, his smile widening.

 

Thomas smiled too, reaching over to place his phone on the coffee table before rolling himself on top of Newt’s smaller body. “We can do that.” He practically purred, framing that cherub-like face with his large hands and kissing him deeply.

 

Newt’s legs immediately spread to let the larger body settle between them, and he moved his arms to wrap around Thomas’ neck and shoulders. The hard lines of Thomas’ body cut into his own, and his skin tingled wherever those pillow soft lips pressed. Thomas practically cried with joy when Newt returned his every movement with one of his own, pushing up and filling any empty space between them.

 

A sad part in the back of his memory reminded him that only a few weeks ago, were they able to move like this, again. After Newt hit his breaking point and had spent time in the hospital, it took weeks before Newt even began to act like himself again. The slow shuffles and sighs began to dissipate and make way for smiles and energy. God, he missed this.

 

Hands roamed between them to grab hold of Thomas’ hardness, making him cry out into Newt’s mouth between kisses. His reaction of course, drove Newt on as he moved his expert hand to further pleasure his love. 

 

“Tommy…” Newt whispered, pinning Thomas’s pleasure-laced gaze with his own, as he continued to pump his hand up and down hot flesh.

 

“God, Newt.” He braced himself with one hand on the soft of Newt’s hip, and the other fisted in those blonde floppy locks of hair. Still under the spell of his boyfriend’s hands, he thrust his hips into Newt’s hand, and secondarily, into the blonde’s own hardness.

 

With a few tight pumps from Newt’s hand, sandwiched between them, and well-aimed thrusts from Thomas’ hips, they both climaxed, shuddering together and breathing heavily.

 

Coming out of the haze, Thomas, peppered Newt’s face with kisses. Brushing his blonde hair out of his sweat laced forehead and snuggling him further into the couch.

 

“Well… I guess we can’t stay here all day anymore.” Newt mused, running his clean hand down Thomas’ flank and bringing the other hand, covered in their passion, up to hang over the couch with a coy smile.

 

Thomas laughed, agreeing. “Let’s take a quick shower…then dinner.”

 

* * *

 

  

His hair still wet from the shower, Newt stood in front of the bathroom medicine chest, leaning all his weight on his good leg. The cast may have been off, but the bones and structures were still weak.

 

Pushing the pain from his mind, he popped open his prescription bottle and shook out one small white pill.  The tiny number imprinted on the chalky exterior of the pill glared up at him.

 

His eyebrow rose immediately. Did his meds always look like that? Pausing to listen for the sounds of Thomas shuffling around in the kitchen, he considered asking his boyfriend the same question. He knew Thomas, who had been mother-henning him since his return from the hospital, would be able to make the determination regarding the pill’s identity.

 

A deep pain in his chest told him to bury that idea as soon as it popped into his mind. He could only imagine Thomas’ response to finding out that after all the progress they had made, Newt was still as confused and broken as he was when he was in the hospital.

 

No. He would not send them through that again.

 

With an heir of suspicion, he turned the orange bottle in his hand and scanned the printed labels on the curved surface, searching for the description of the medication within.

There, printed vertically on a yellow label it read “ROUND TABLET-“ right before the paper was torn and peeled off. Frustrating, but not unusual. Thomas had a tendency to be impatient, and tear packaging apart. Hell, half their cereal boxes looked like they have been chewed on because of his rush to get to the contents inside.

 

“You’ve gotta take your pill, Newt.” Thomas’ voice startled him out of his thoughts. Looking over, he saw the other man leaning on the doorframe, his arms crossed across his bare chest.

 

Setting aside his thoughts, he opened his mouth and swallowed the pill with a glare, not breaking eye contact with Thomas. It was petty, but it felt good for the moment.

 

Thomas sighed, and dropped his gaze. Immediately, Newt felt the wave of guilt knock him over and pull him under, as he watched Thomas become cowed by his dirty look. He opened his mouth to apologize but Thomas beat him to speaking. “I wanted to ask if you went outside since we came in from breakfast this morning.”

 

The look Newt gave him was one of confusion. When he shook his head in response, Thomas looked a little uncomfortable.

 

“What is it?” Newt asked gently, still hating himself for treating Tommy poorly.

 

Thomas shrugged. “I saw the front door was unlocked, and I remember locking it when we came in after breakfast.” He bit his lip they way he always did when he was deep in thought. “We live in a good neighborhood, so I’m not overly worried…but its still weird.”

 

Newt agreed with a nod, but put it out of his mind. Instead, he moved forward and pressed his head into Thomas’ warm chest, and wrapped his arms low around his muscular waist. “I’m sorry.”

 

“For not locking the door?”

 

“No, Tommy…” Newt chuckled. “For being a jerk about the pill.” Thomas’ chest rumbled with a laugh, and his own arms wrapped around Newt with a squeeze.

 

“I know, Baby…. It’s okay.”

 

“I love you.”

 

Thomas smiled into Newt’s hair. “I love you, too.”

 

Newt sighed into Thomas’ chest, the chalky residue of the pill sill stuck in his throat.

 

It was going to be okay.


	3. The New Glader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading this! I truly appreciate your kudos and comments, and hope you enjoy.
> 
> As a disclaimer, none of the characters are mine and I make no profit form this.
> 
> Thank you.

**_Present Day._ **

 

The phone buzzed for the millionth time, causing his entire desk to vibrate with each text.  Newt gave his phone another glare, before going back to slowly typing the series of numbers into the spreadsheet.

 

45673844… Buzz…

 

564…Buzz….

 

6…Buzz….. 67533567… BUZZZZZZZZZZ

 

“Oh for the love of….” His hand practically crashed against desk, snatching the phone and also disrupting the equilibrium of the adorable solar powered dancing cactus on his desk in his attempt to will it into silence. Without a look at the messages on the screen, he shoved the offending device into his backpack on the floor beside his desk chair.

 

He wanted nothing more than to check the messages, but his job discouraged personal time on his phone. More so, as much as his mind was screaming for the distraction, reading the texts brought him no actual joy or positive feelings, other than the mental break they provided from work. In fact, if his phone had not been buzzing, his mind would have probably flit to something else in the basement office that would provide some sort of entertainment. The little plastic dancing cactus his colleague had gifted him was usually a good focus point.

 

His job was not boring.

 

In fact, it was normally something he enjoyed.

 

_Normally._

 

Data crunching was not something he found difficult, and the process added some sort of consistency in his life. Overall, it was a stepping-stone of a job that hopefully led to a better career once he finished his degree. He, like the other Gladers, were still in the formative years of getting their lives back together, many of them having decided to continue schooling. Newt, having received his GED shortly after being rescued from the Glade, wanted nothing more than to finally have access to the learning he was cut off from.

 

It was the freedom to do what he willed, when he willed it.

 

Although, as he was surrounded cubical walls, spent much of his time in the oppressive darkness of the college library, and still tuned out the voices of his fellow Gladers in forced conversations, he may as well have never left the Glade.

 

This wasn’t the first time he felt this way. Around six months ago, before things took a spiral, he began to look at the freedom he so loved, and realized that every part of it was just another type of shackle. From the food he forced himself to eat regularly even when he did not hunger; the job he had to have; the hours he was locked away in an office or school; and even the conversations he felt he had to feign interest in with his own friends, the invisible walls felt like they were closing in. He had no interest in even coming to work, and felt fatigued and embittered by even being in the building.

 

Fingers still paused on the keyboard number “7”, he tried to tell himself that this was not like last time. No, he was seeing a therapist now, and he finally had medication that seemed to make a difference. Any similarities to his feelings now and those in the past were purely a coincidence or reoccurring mood.

 

Yes, that was it.

 

* * *

 

 

As Newt made his way into the college library, he focused on catching up on the series of texts from his friends. Many were part of the Glader group chat, of which he could not fathom the flow of conversation, given that it almost seemed like a string of conscious thought and babbles, in between the occasional meme from Gally. The private messages were all alike as well. Winston was telling him about a particular book he was reading, while Frypan regaled him with stories of his rambunctious new roommate at the dorm. Although, normally these would be conversations he was active in, it seemed that as long as he had known the Gladers, their interactions were terribly one sided.

 

Before the incident months ago, when gaps of communication formed between Newt and his friends, he was the one to start the conversations, whether by call or text. He was not usually the one to receive a kind “hello, how have you been”, or “we haven’t talked in a while”.

 

After the conversations began, of course, he was also the one to keep them alive. He asked all the right questions at all the right times, and became very good at getting others to open up to him and share their lives.

 

Unfortunately, however, he never got a chance to share the same to them. In fact, other than the obligatory “how about you?” he would receive in response, no one seemed to want to dig into his life. On the odd chance he did share those facts with them, they were quick and non-embellished, and of course, not focused on for very long before the conversations moved back to the other person. Newt’s heart screamed for someone to care about the things he did, or share the same interest in his life that he held for others, but it was for naught.

 

Even now, as he was no longer the one initiating the conversations- a change he suspected was directly related to Thomas’ instruction to the Gladers to check in with him regularly- the conversation never focused on him for long.

 

It had been this way in the Glade as well. It was his job to be their group’s preverbal Flight Attendant, forced to keep up a brave face in order to stave off the panic of his younger peers. It was his role to be the leader, and to maintain a sense of trust, order, and the feeling of safety in their chaotic world, having been in the Glade the longest, second only to Alby.

 

_Alby._

 

With a snap out of his horrible thoughts, Newt refocused on the world around him, looking up from his phone and actually taking the moment to look around the main entrance room of the library.

 

Students piled around computers, worktables, and resource rooms, in a buzz. The space was a whirr of excitement and anxiety, related to upcoming exams and final term papers. On the way to the stacks, his eyes caught sight of someone staring at him.

 

Turning his head, with no pause in his journey through the glass doors leading to the stacks, he locked eyes with his gawker: A young woman, her shoulders drawn in as she leaned over her notebooks on one of the worktables. Her hair was brow and her eyes were bright and focused on him like a predator.

 

His entire body shuddered as if it was taking on a threat, but he continued to stare back, trying to comprehend who this person was and the reason behind their gaze.

 

‘What was her problem? Did he know her from somewhere?’ Suddenly, he became insecure as he thought about his obvious limp, and how it could be the reason for her stare.

 

It only lasted a moment before he was within the darkness and silence of the stacks. Like a portal, the glass doors transported him from the busy main room, and into the less travelled rows of bookshelves.

 

Occasionally on his travels down the multiple floors, he found himself walking into a freshman romance or sometimes another loner who trying to find a quiet space to study. But, more often then not, he found himself alone.

 

‘Just how I like it.’ He thought.

 

Taking a seat in the tiny workstation tucked away near the engineering section of tomes, he quickly made himself comfortable. With a deep inhale, breathing in the smell of old books and stale air, he felt at home.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hours went by, before Newt thought of getting home. He and Thomas had a standing commitment to be home for dinner every other night. This allowed them the means to set time aside to spend with just each other, and neither could be happier for it.

 

He smiled at the mere thought of seeing Tommy in a few short minutes.

 

Gathering his items, and closing his books, he stood to leave. Suddenly, somewhere within the garden of metal shelves and paper that made up the stacks was a loud bang that echoed through the space.

 

Newt froze, and his heart raced immediately. His bad leg itched forward as if it was going to lead charge out of the room and back up the stairs for safety; A reflex from his days being terrorized in the Glade.

 

‘Calm down, Greenie. It’s just an old building.’ His mind persuaded.

 

However, the sound did not belong to the normal book loosening from its designated space, or the whirr of the ancient boiler as it came to life, and a large part of Newt’s body recognized that.

 

Quickly shuffling his items into his backpack with shaking hands, he quickly made his way from the workstation, down the row of shelves and towards the spiral staircase leading back up to the first floor. The glass doors he had come in through were six hundred feet away and up a flight of stairs. With his injured leg and a possible attacker, the safety of the main room in the library felt too far from reach.

 

Quiet footsteps were heard shortly after, corresponding to his own steps as he raced towards the stairs.

 

In his mind, he considered the fact that this could be just another student he was unaware of on the same floor in the stacks as he. In fact, the student may have even been startled by Newt’s own shuffling. Although he tried to reason the fear away, his logic did not deter him. He was frightened, and it drove him on to moving faster, going so far as to practically drag his injured leg behind him.

 

As the sounds came closer, and he realized he would not be able to make it to the stairs in time, he concocted a second option to survive the upcoming peril. All while running, his hand moved to reach around and grab the pocketknife from the front pouch of his bag. If he could not outrun the threat, he would have to fight it off.

 

The footsteps drew ever nearer, and Newt’s fingers slid across the metal of the knife while his legs made for safety with all their might. Just when it seemed like he would need to draw his knife and get ready to actually use it- something he was not sure he was ready for- a clatter from above broke the tension.

 

Two students, one male and a female, their heavy sneakers pounding on the metal stairs, clamored down to the floor he was on, and began their way through the stacks. The entire time, they laughed and conversed loudly, oblivious of Newt’s peril.

 

It was a blessing.

 

With the joining of two new players into their rows of stacks, the second set of mystery footsteps came to a halt, and Newt was free to scramble up the stairway and into the main room.

 

Rushing out of the main lobby and outside, he found an empty picnic table underneath the blooming cherry blossom tree, where he collapsed onto the waiting bench. He waited a few moments for his breath to catch the air it so desperately needed before forcing his still-shaking hands to dig his phone out of his bag.

The pad of his finger was on Thomas’s name on the screen within a second. Hovering just over it as the call began, he stared at the profile picture of his boyfriend. The picture was taken on the edge of the local lake, and Thomas was laughing in a manner that was so pure, and so _Thomas_ , that he was loath to ruin it with his call.

 

His Tommy worked himself to the bone to help Newt recover, and had fought tirelessly to bring Newt back from the brink of death- even if the blonde did not feel he deserved it. Thomas gave him everything, and was the boyfriend that Newt wished he could be, but never would be. Now that things have settled, Thomas was happy again, and Newt, for the life of him, refused to let Tommy worry for him again.

 

“-wt…Newt?”

 

Newt shook himself back into focus, responding to Thomas’s voice calling to him through the phone.

 

“I’m here, Tommy! Sorry, I don’t have good service.” He lied, putting on his best façade.

 

“No worries. What’s up?” Thomas asked, nonchalantly.

 

“Nothing, just thought I would call and let you know that I’m…” he took a deep breath, focusing his energy on pushing the shaking sound out of his voice, and providing a calm tone. “-I’m on my way home…and I can’t wait to see you at dinner.”

 

He could practically hear Thomas beaming. “Aw, Newt! I miss you too… I’ll see you soon?”

 

“Yep. See you soon.”

 

With that, they hung up, and Newt cursed himself for lying to his boyfriend, and hated himself a bit more for how even today, he continued to hurt Thomas, the one person he loved more than anyone.

 

With another deep breath, he forced himself into composure. Wiping a hand across his forehead and bringing it back in front of his face; he saw the wet steak of sweat across his fingers. He was a mess.

 

Within the seconds it took him to pull himself together and begin to walk further away from the library and towards home, he had convinced himself that his mind was playing tricks on him. He scared himself into a panic, over nothing. The footsteps were in his mind, or were just caused by another student on the floor with him.

 

 _Pathetic_.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He was home! Relief flooded through Newt, and he flung open the door, ready to crash on the couch with his boyfriend.

 

“Tommy-“ He called out, before cutting himself off with surprise. Newt stopped in the doorway, his eyes narrowing in on the two figures sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor. One was unmistakably, Thomas. His hair was wild- the way it got when he dragged his hand through it a million times. Spread around him appeared to be photos, the contents of which, Newt could not make out from his current viewpoint. Beside Thomas was a young woman, her shirt was blue, and her dark hair and steely eyes were suddenly very familiar to him.

 

‘No. Fricken. Way.’ He thought.

 

There, beside his boyfriend, leaning over the scattered photos, was the girl from the library. Her eyes still piercing into his soul like a threat, despite how she was the one encroaching on _his_ territory and was the guest in _his_ house.

 

Thomas noticed his hesitation and moved to stand, pointing in the girl’s direction. “Newt, this is Teresa.” He introduced. “She goes to Haven College, too.”

 

Newt nodded, walking further into the house, closing the door. He was still suspicious and not caring if he was acting inhospitable to their unwanted guest. “You didn’t tell me we were going to have guests over.” He dropped his bag in a corner and moved closer to the two.

 

Thomas fidgeted and moved his body in a way that seemed to intentionally block Newt’s view of Teresa and their pile of pictures. This only caused Newt to become more curious. Teresa, still looking up at him with a frown on her face, seemed to study Newt’s movement from her perch on the floor.

 

Her eyes narrowed at his comment, and Newt groaned internally. Poor Thomas was allowed friends over, without Newt’s approval. But, of course, to Teresa, who had only known Newt from their present interaction, he probably seemed like the asshole boyfriend friends warned their other friends about.

 

So far, they were off to a great start, Newt thought sarcastically to himself. All he had wanted to do was spend time in the arms of his boyfriend, but now he was forced to circumvent an awkward social interaction with his library stalker.

 

“Yeah, she just came over, sorry.” Thomas rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, messing up his hair even further. “She was telling me about… um…” He paused, and looked back to Teresa, and then down to the photos, unsure of what to say. Now, Newt was nervous. Thomas appeared to be holding something back, afraid to speak, as if for fear the words would break his boyfriend on their way out. Newt was fragile, and this could shatter him and all the progress they had made.

 

“We were talking about the Glade.” Teresa stated, impatient with Thomas’s hesitation. While fingering one of the enlarged photos, she continued, “How’s your leg?”

 

Newt froze, and embarrassingly, he released an audible breath at the shock. ‘Why would Tommy be discussing this with her? Why was he letting her into their lives?’ Newt’s mind wracked, trying to make heads or tails of the situation.

 

Thomas immediately felt guilty, and his face was crumpled up as he approached the other boy with his hands in the air, much like he would a scared child. “Newt, it’s okay, we can trust her-“

 

Newt’s neck cracked as his chin shot up and he stared in Thomas’s direction. ‘Safe?! Was he kidding? Who was this person? What did she want from them, and why is she dragging their worst experiences with her, and into their home?’ His heart raced, and he quelled the need to scream these thoughts out loud. Within seconds, Thomas’s hands were grasping lightly at Newt’s arms, rubbing them soothingly, while whispering more reassurances.

 

Normally Newt would be shaking with anxiety, but on the outside, he was calm and steady, despite the hidden panic. Thomas picked up on this and practically sagged in relief that the boy was holding it together so well, all the while internally berating himself for not seeing how this would hurt his boyfriend. Despite how Newt appeared to be all right, Thomas knew his mental state was still fragile at the moment, and he should have known this was a bad idea. It was his job, he felt, to protect Newt, and to keep him grounded, while he healed.

 

Teresa stood up and said something over Thomas’s shoulder before she headed out their front door, leaving the photos.

 

“You okay Baby?” Thomas asked.

 

Newt took that moment to pause and think hard about how to respond. He was already on the edge since that weird scare in the library, and now a nosy student had accosted him in his own home. Swallowing hard, he nodded. “Yeah, Tommy. I’m fine.”

 

“Newt, you don’t have to-“

 

“No.” He cut Thomas off. “I overreacted.  I saw her staring at me before, in the library, and the fact that she knew we were in the Glade… it just threw me off.” The answer was calm and collected, just like he planned. “I’m sorry I ruined your little playdate.” He laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

 

It seemed to have worked, as Thomas smiled back, pulling Newt into a quick hug before heading back to pick up the photos on the floor. As he scooped the photos into neat piles, Newt bending over to help, Thomas couldn’t help but be amazed at how well his boyfriend was doing. Over the last six months he had watched him like a hawk, and slowly but surely he was becoming more like himself every day. Newt was normally always the calm and mature one, ready to kick sense into any of his younger Gladers when needed. It was nice to know that things would be returning to normal soon.

 

“So, what are these?” Newt asked, beginning to sift through the photos, only to pause on one at the top of one of the stacks. He brought the picture closer, taking in the details of a face he had known forever, covered in blood and tears as he held the limp and lifeless body of one of his best friends in his arms.

 

It was a photo of him, and in his arms, was Alby.

 

“Newt… Teresa, was telling me about the Glade, because she was there.” Thomas swallowed. “She was part of the cult too, taken as a kid, just like us.” Thomas studied Newt’s reaction as he looked at the horrifying photo, and slowly, he reached up to take it away, and add it to the stack of others. “We don’t need to look at these… I’ll give them back to Teresa when I see her at school.”

 

Newt nodded, eyes still on the picture, even as it was folded into the deck of others. The urge to see all the photos clawed at him, now, and he fought to hold it back… at least while he was with Thomas.

 

“Come on.” He took the initiative and got to his feet, dragging Thomas by the hand with him. “Let’s make dinner.”

 

Thomas practically beamed at Newt’s suggestion that they eat- a sign of progress. He would have to text the Gladers on this later on, but for now, however, he would focus on spending quality time with Newt.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**_6 months ago._ **

 

Thomas woke to the bed shaking. Beside him, Newt thrashed, caught in a nightmare.

Reaching his arms around Newt’s too thin waist, Thomas leaned in and whispered into the other male’s ear to wake up.

 

The tickle of breath on his ear, and the sound of his love’s deep voice brought Newt crashing out of the dream and into reality. His body jolted awake, and the sudden cold of his cooling sweat set in.

 

“Newt…You okay?” Thomas whispered, crushing his body to his own.

 

Newt’s heartbeat began to settle, and he curled into the other’s touch. “Yeah, Tommy. I’m fine.” He lied.

 

He rubbed his face into the soft fabric of Tommy’s T-shirt and wrung his hands, which were only just moments ago in the dream, covered with Alby’s blood. He couldn’t get the haunting images of Alby’s slacken, bloodied face out of his mind. He hid it from Thomas, but he dreamed like that every night, although, it was rare that Thomas actually managed to wake up from his flailing.

 

“Good night, Baby.” Thomas murmured before falling back into sleep. However, Newt remained awake for the rest of the night with his friend’s death burned into the back of his eyelids.

 

_He was not fine._


	4. The New Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind comments and Kudos! I hope you enjoy the next installment. I promise, there be plot ahead!

**_Present_ **

 

Newt needed to stop showing up on time.

 

Waiting outside the library for his boyfriend to pick him up, Newt let out a long suffering sigh. His fingers twitched to pull out his phone, but he resisted the urge. He knew that the other man was on his way, and assailing him with another text was not going to make him move any faster.

 

Thomas was always late. It was like an innate part of who he was, and although Newt loved him dearly, it was something he could never accept. Having been in a relationship with Thomas as long as he has, he as tried everything: Talking to him and letting him know how much it hurts (aggravates) him; informed him how different restaurant hostesses have given him pitying looks on multiple occasions as he waits alone on their date night; tried tricking Thomas by telling him that the event was actually an hour earlier in hopes that he would show up on time; and even forcing himself to be late so he wouldn’t be waiting alone so long. Nothing worked. No matter what, Thomas was always late, and Newt was always stuck waiting for him.

 

In his frustration, Newt tried not to fixate too much on how despite Thomas’s shortcomings of punctuality, it was Newt himself who was the lemon in their relationship. He knew that if Thomas was not so stupidly in love with him, he could easily find someone else who was better and less broken than Newt. In fact, he remembers during some of his darkest times how he even purposely said nasty things to Thomas, just so he would be pushed away and into the direction of someone who deserved him.

 

It was as if he was trying to sabotage his own happiness by remaining bitter, empty and cold… He cut that thought off. It had been months since the incident and he was doing better. He needed to cut off those thoughts as soon as he heard them cross his mind, and immediately move on from that negative voice in his head, and remind himself of something positive and true: He loved Thomas, and he was going to make sure that he did his best to be the person who deserved him.

 

With a deep breath of crisp air, he prepared himself to continue his wait, with more gusto.

 

He was going to need it.

 

“Newt!” A female voice called him from behind, coming from the inside of the library. He turned to see Teresa walking through the wide glass doors towards him, books in her hand, before stopping in front of him.

 

The ball of frustration he had just expelled threatened to come wheeling back.

 

“Hey.” She greeted, shifting her books from one arm to another, visibly uncomfortable. “I was hoping to catch up with you and apologize. I know you were caught off guard by my coming over, the other day.” It has been a few days since she visited, and although Thomas and Newt had both apologized to each other, the sinking feeling that they would need to confront the issue of Teresa’s visit remained.

 

“Yeah. It was a bit of a surprise.” _Surprise!? It was a bit more than a bloody surprise!_ “How did you know who we were? How did you find us?”

 

Teresa cocked her head to the side, and as if speaking to a child she stated, “Vince didn’t tell you?” Newt could only imagine, the man she was referring to was their legal caseworker, Vince. Vince a large and scruffy man who had served as their lawyer and assigned case worker since they were rescued, had kept them together and fed them as much information as possible in regards to the legal case against Ava Paige’s followers and the WCKD cult. However, he had never mentioned anything about this mysterious girl, Teresa. “I’m helping him put together the case against WCKD. I was there, in the bunker. Ava used to make me…” she paused to find her words. “…control the maze.”

 

Newt’s eyes flashed and her words sank in. Every time one of his friends, the younger Gladers he had sworn to protect, were injured and in some cases, killed because of the maze, it had partially been because of her. He thought specifically to Alby, and how while trying desperately to save the Gladers as they revolted against WCKD, he was killed. Murdered, specifically, because he was the leader. When the sharp projectile speared through Alby’s chest, it was because of people like Teresa pushed a button.

 

Those same controls and buttons were flaunted in front of Newt hundreds of times by the psycho, Janson, or RatMan, as they called him. He used to taunt him viciously, and bargain for safety from the maze. He promised Newt the world if he would only betray his fellow Gladers and be the one behind the controls. Newt refused every time.

 

It seemed Teresa did not.

 

His disgust must have shown in his face because Teresa quickly frowned. “Do not judge me. You have no idea why I made that decision.”

 

Newt scowled, narrowed his eyes, and pressed his face closer to hers. “You’re right. I don’t. And, I don’t care, because it’s not going to make anything that we went through in there okay.”

 

“You’re alive because of me. I tried to help you and everyone else in the maze.”

 

Newt didn’t believe her, and didn’t trust her, but he also knew this conversation was going nowhere. With a mental reminder to slim it, he took a breath and changed the direction of the conversation. “What do you need from us?” He asked, trying not to growl.

 

“Nothing. I needed Thomas.”

 

 _Ouch_. Despite the annoyance, he schooled his features and continued.

 

“What did you need from Thomas?”

 

Teresa took a deep breath of her own before opening one of the notebooks in her grasp. From it, she pulled out a printed photo of a man’s face and flipped it over so Newt could see it. The scribbled name in pen under the image was not necessary, as that face had haunted Newt for as long as he could remember.

 

_Janson._

 

Newt involuntarily shuttered. Every scar and mark that Janson had left on him became hypersensitive, as if they were electrified from the memory. He and the other Gladers had been convinced that RatMan had been buried under the rubble and ruin of the bunker when they escaped, dying as he deserved. Like Ava Paige, he was just another ghost.

 

“The police are still looking for him. They don’t know how he survived the siege, but they are pretty convinced he is still out there. Only recently he’s resurfaced, the police catching him on some video feed from outside the Denver train station.” She flipped the picture back into its home within the notebook and then turned her piercing back to Newt’s. “He’s in this city. He’s here.”

 

The words shook Newt’s world. His legs became numb and he felt the ground begin to swallow him whole, as he grasped for something sturdy. That “something” turned out to be Teresa, who reached out and caught him by the forearm, steadying him. Funnily enough, despite how his whole world was upended, all he could think about was how fragile he had become since he left the maze. He was barely able to hold his shuck self up.

 

His pulse quickened at the terrifying thought that Janson was still alive out there this whole time.

 

“Newt!” Teresa called, pulling him back to the present. “Focus. Vince and I are working on finding him. He’ll be behind bars like the others, soon. I just need Thomas’s help.”

 

Thomas’s name shook Newt out of his shock. “Tommy? How is he going to help?”

 

Teresa released his arm, pulling it back to herself. “Thomas knew him the best. Janson was obsessed with trying to punish him for being one of the only people that stood up to WCKD, and he might try to target him.” Newt thought on that for a moment. He knew Thomas was special, and that it was because of Thomas’s tenacity and intelligence that they were able to make the first move against WCKD, while the FBI served the final blow. It was natural that Thomas was to become the largest thorn in Janson’s side.

 

“What are they doing to keep Tommy safe?” Newt asked.

 

“Vince has a few plans already in motion. He’ll make sure Thomas has some kind of security detail until this is over.”

 

 _If_ it’s ever over.

 

 Newt nodded, and thanked her, politely and genuinely wishing her the best of luck in helping Vince. Thinking the conversation was over, as Teresa had nodded and began to step away, he looked out towards the campus road, waiting for Thomas’s car to pull up, still shaking with anxiety. However, Teresa’s voice carried over to him once more.

 

“Newt…” He didn’t miss the way her eyes jumped down to his injured leg before rising back to his face as she spoke. “I’m glad to hear you are doing well.” She stated genuinely, before turning and walking away. The words themselves were simple but carried much weight.

 

_She knew._

 

Unconsciously, he pressed a hand against the disfigured flesh on his thigh.

 

Just then, Thomas’s car pulled up to the curb and a practically frantic Thomas came spilling out, only to run up to Newt with his hands out apologetically.

 

“Baby, I am so sorry!” He was sweating and panting, like he had run a mile. Only once he caught his breath did he physically manhandle Newt towards the passenger side door to let him in. After he closed the door, Thomas scrambled to his side and let himself in the driver seat, and they start their journey home. “You would not believe what just happened.”

 

Thomas, as usual was like a blur of energy, the hand not tight on the wheel was expressively dancing in the air as he told his story. “Vince called me to his office and basically told me that-“

 

“That Janson is out to get you, and you need to be under some kind of protection until the FBI can track him down?” Newt interrupted, watching him with a raised eyebrow.

 

Thomas’s mouth stayed open for a while longer than he wanted to admit, in silence. “Yes! How did you-?”

 

“Teresa paid me a visit while I was waiting.”

 

Thomas nodded, still not fully calmed down. “Vince told me  that he and Teresa were working together and he basically kept me for like-“ He looked at the clock on the dashboard with a grimace. “-an hour. But Newt, I swear all I could think about was you waiting outside the library, alone with that that psychopath on the loose.”

 

“Tommy, its okay.” Newt pressed a hand to Thomas’s thigh, squeezing lightly to reassure him. “I’m okay, and I love that after hearing that _you_ are the one being chased down by a deranged lunatic, you thought of me first. But, to be honest, I am more worried about you, and I am glad Vince agrees.”

 

Thomas seemed to calm down, his lips moving to a thin line as his thoughts shifted like cogs in a clock within his genius mind. The light touch on his leg grounded him to the present, and Newt made sure to hold it there gently. However, his Tommy needed more, deciding to instead, clasp the hand on his thigh within his own and press it to his lips sweetly. His eyes never left the road. If they had, he would have seen Newt practically melting beside him.

 

“I’m sorry for being so late.” Thomas apologized again, daring to quickly dart his eyes in Newt’s direction for a millisecond before turning them back to the road.

 

“It’s okay, Tommy.” Newt smiled. “You can make it up to me later.”

 

Thomas grinned wickedly, holding Newt’s hand even tighter.

 

When they got home, Thomas immediately peeked outside the front window to see an unmarked car on their curb that was not there previously. In it, was the man Vince had described as their protective detail. He wished he felt safer, but having a guard present only served to exacerbate the fear that the threat that Janson posed was very, very, real. Had Thomas lived alone, Thomas would have wanted Janson to come for him. Hell, he may have even baited him, but with Newt and the other Gladers all within spitting distance of the city, he worried for their safety.

 

“Hey Tommy?” he heard Newt call from the kitchen, where he was puttering about, putting together some kind of quick meal for the two of them. As the night was getting deeper, they only had an hour or two with each other before they had to go to bed and rise early for work the next morning. They would need to savor it as much as possible.

 

Thomas turned, walking to the counter and leaning forward on it, into Newt’s space as much as possible without being in the way. He didn’t comment on how excited he was just to see Newt making dinner when only a few months ago the blonde would have been repulsed at the idea of eating. “Yeah, Baby?”

 

“Did you tell Teresa about how I hurt my leg?” He asked, with only the delicacy that Newt could possess.

 

Thomas froze, looking straight into the other man’s eyes in immediate confusion. “No, why? Did she say something?” His confusion turned to protectiveness in an instant, and Newt tried to calm him.

 

“It’s not a big deal, I was just asking. It seems she knows a lot more about us then we do of her.”

 

Thomas nodded. “She was on the outside. I can’t imagine what that was like to have to watch, and to have to control it.” Newt kept quiet as Thomas referred to the maze. Newt’s compassion was much stronger for those within the maze, as he and his had been inside of it for years. However, a large part of him also felt empathy for the people in the bunker, like Thomas. Those were people who were manipulated and forced into creating the maze, only to be thrown into it years later. He reached his hand out to meet the back of Thomas’s neck, puling him over the counter slightly for a kiss, trying to convey his love and support through the gentle press of lips. Once they broke apart, he smiled and went back to the food.

 

It wasn’t until later, when they were both in bed that Newt dragged the old shoebox out from underneath their bed and pulled it up on his lap. Thomas was sleeping soundly beside him under the covers, while Newt stayed up, moving the flashlight on his phone across the scattered newspaper articles and other items inside. He remembered getting this shoebox from Vince and his team. Inside it, at the time, was a new pair of high top sneakers. Vince and his team made it their job to feed, clothe, and provide aid to the Gladers after the police processed them, and pushed into the world, unprepared. He remembered a woman had handed him a set of clothes and a the box with the first pair of sneakers he remembered wearing after his boots were taken into evidence days prior.

 

He skimmed the articles and reread how WCKD had been operating for years out in the desert of Arizona, taking children that would not be missed from the streets, like Newt and Gally, or from their parents whom were already invested in the cult, like Minho, Thomas and Chuck. WCKD was using children to prepare for some kind of post-apocalyptic world, molding and experimenting until they had the perfect scientific subjects they needed to save those they deemed worthy- aka, themselves.  Newt still didn’t know what WCKD really needed the Gladers for, as Janson never told him. He just told him he needed to do _better_.

 

_Better at what?_

 

* * *

 

 

 ** _2 Years Ago_**.

 

His head was spinning, and he could have sworn it felt as if pieces of his brain were leaking out of his head and through his ear. The entire side of his face had swelled up and something warm was dropping from his ear to his shoulder. His legs were splayed in front of him, and his back had drooped in the chair so much that he appeared more like a glob of melting candle wax than a human boy.

 

He had given up the appearance of strength and defiance days ago. Now, he just waited for his captor to wave a piece of food in front of his face- for which he would do anything to receive.

 

“I’m glad I checked in.” The cold, clean voice of Assistant Director Janson echoed in his one good ear, as well as the loud crash of a door closing behind him. “I don’t think you would have lasted the night if I hadn’t.” The man stepped closer, and suddenly Newt felt fingers brush his swollen cheek. The pain refused to remain localized and instead shot through his entire head. His wound was probably infected too, he thought.

 

“I know…” Janson almost cooed, pressing his face in close and crouching to Newt’s level. “If you hadn’t fucked up so bad, this wouldn’t have happened.”

 

Newt’s eyes, although they were covered in grime and caked blood, did their best to focus on him, as he spoke more nonsense. This was third visit, and clearly things were already not going any differently then the others.

 

“I don’t know why you thought you could pull that off….It was ambitious, I admit. Using the supplies we so generously provide you every month to create an electromagnet that would shut down the Grievers…” He smirked. “…Temporarily”

 

Newt cursed him internally. Their idea was a good one. He and Alby worked for days to create that stupid electromagnet. Knowing that the Grievers were machines gave them the idea that they would be able to fry their mechanics, just long enough to actually get through the maze as a group, unhindered, and break out of the maze at last. Of course, halfway through their escape, the Grievers were functioning again, and practically pulling kids apart with their terrifying weaponry. Newt got hit bad, and on top of that, was trampled by one. When he woke up, he was in this chair. He hadn’t moved since.

 

“You need to try harder.” Janson seethed, gripping his two hands on either side of the chair, boxing him in.

 

Newt responded the only way he could.

 

Janson didn’t seem surprised when he felt the boy’s bloody spit hit his face. The hand that backhanded Newt, whipped between them so fast that Newt only saw a blur and felt the searing pain shortly after.

 

“I gave you everything! Food, shelter, a home... All I am asking is for you to work harder and solve this fucking maze!” He yelled, standing up and pacing around the blonde boy. “What kind of idiot child can’t figure out a maze?!” He taunted.

 

Newt felt himself fading despite the loud voice keeping him tethered to the present. His head dropped further and his unruly hair fell into his face, some of it sticking to the blood caked there. He stopped caring and allowed himself the chance to succumb to rest.

 

“You are too smart for this Newton.” Janson whispered, back to being close and now wrapping his large hand around the injured side of Newt’s jaw, squeezing. Newt let out a pained whimper.

 

“You can solve this, Newton. If you solve this, you and all your little friends can go home… You will never need to run that maze again.” The grip squeezed harder, only to soften and become almost tender. It was a touch that Newt had not experienced as long as he had been alive. He craved it so much, even from someone so vile, that it made him want to weep. Janson must have realized this because his thumb moved in slow circles, responding when the boy’s cheek pressed against it for more.

 

“There is always that other option we discussed before.” Janson began, continuing to stroke his cheek, while he let his other arm lean against the back of the chair, once more boxing Newt into his space. Newt was disgusted in himself, and admitted that this time, being surrounded by the other man felt different. The feeling of being protected or cared for, even in the smallest amount and even by someone he reviled made him crave for more. He wanted the love of a father figure, or a mentor, or someone that didn’t just rely on him for survival like the other Gladers. Someone who would love him for simply being him. “You can help me. Leave the maze and help me from behind the scenes. Don’t you ever ask yourself how the maze works, and how it does the things it does? What if I let you control it? _You_ can control it, Newt.”

 

Janson, of course, was not that person, and no amount of manipulation or false kindness would make that possible.

 

Newt picked his head up and fixed his tired eyes onto the rat-faced man to give his answer.

 

“No.”

 

With those words, spoken through bloody lips, the whole world and all his hope peeled away like a layer of shiny plastic uncovering the true filth underneath. Janson’s face fell. Hips lips curved first into one of shocked disappointment, before morphing into a snarl. The hand that was caressing his cheek so dearly had been snatched away, and his entire body pushed itself away from the boy before him.

 

There was one moment where Newt knew he had made the right decision, and in that, he puffed his chest out courageously.

 

Then, all he felt was pain.

 

* * *

 

**_Present._ **

 

Newt cringed as he continued to read, pulling himself from the depths of his memories. Some of the articles had photos embedded in the newspaper print, One showing a horrific cloud of black smoke and ash engulfing a large metal walled structure. The maze.

When Thomas had led their attack on WCKD, they had no idea that it would trigger an explosion. The fire and smoke of course, had been enough to draw in the FBI, who had been watching WCKD for years, collecting information without interfering without cause or evidence of the horrible things they were doing. The FBI swarmed in, grabbing children and taking them to safety, while also fighting WCKD’s own army that was firing upon them.

 

Ava Paige did not survive: choosing instead to record and stream her manifesto, and shortly after, her suicide. People died in the fire, and others died in the shootout with the FBI. Most were arrested.

 

The Gladers were safe, although not all survived: Alby was immediately killed by the maze, or more accurately, by those controlling it. His picture and name were printed right under the headline, as one of the innocent lives that had perished at the hands of the doomsday cult. Newt pressed his hand to the newsprint, careful not to smudge the ink, but enough to feel some kind of connection with his former best friend.

 

With a swallow, he placed the newspaper clipping back into the box, among his other precious items, and shoved it all back under his and Thomas’s bed.

 

Trying his best not to wake Thomas, he headed to the bathroom to relieve himself and hopefully splash some cool water on his face. On his way down the hall a movement caught his eye. It was quick and sudden, and no more than a flash of darkness just out of sight. He froze.

 

Taking a few steps back towards the bedroom, he reached for the hall light switch and flicked it on. The area lit up with an orange glow that only reached the end of the hall. The darkness leading towards the remainder of the first floor stared back at him maliciously.

 

He considered waking Thomas, only to convince himself that it would be far worse to be embarrassed at the fear of his own shadow than to walk into the unknown. So, he stepped forward carefully, each creak in the old floorboards like a clash of thunder in the silence. Heart racing, and hair standing on end, he stopped when he toed the fuzzy line of light to darkness.

 

His hand groped the wall and flicked the remaining light on, splashing the room with the orange light. Despite how he was expecting to see someone standing in the kitchen or the living room, there was no one there. Nothing was out of place, and there were no signs of life. He took a few steps further into the living room, and poked his head around a few corners and behind the couch just to be sure.

 

He could have sworn he saw something.

 

His mind jumped to only a few months ago when he was at his worst, and he had begun seeing visions of Alby wherever he went. Since then, the hallucinations had gone, but it seemed the last visages of his illness were still hanging on. With a sigh, he turned around to head back to his bed, only to bump into something hard.

 

He jumped a mile in the air from the scare, and was gripped hard by the arms.

 

“Whoa! Newt, what the hell.” Thomas’ deep voice rumbled, vibrating through him from where their chests touched.

 

“Jesus, Tommy.” Newt wiped his face and took a breath. “What are you doing out of bed?” His voice cracked.

 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

 

Curiously, Thomas looked around the room, trying to piece together why his boyfriend would be up and about at the late hour.

 

“I thought I saw something. It was nothing.”

 

Immediately, Thomas’s went into protective-mode, and Newt regretted speaking. The brunette swept through the rooms, and then dared a look outside, spotting their protection detail still parked in its designated location.

 

“Tommy. Lets just go back to bed.” Newt held out his hand, allowing the confused but suspicious other man to take it. He ignored the way Thomas’s eyes narrowed and bore into the back of his head as he led them back to bed. As they settled in for the second time that night, the brunette did not sleep, deciding to stay vigilant, and spend the hours mulling on his boyfriend’s behavior and what it meant.

_Things were supposed to be getting better._ He thought.

 

* * *

 

**_Present._ **

 

From: Thomas [6:30 AM]:  Roll Call.

Newt made and ate dinner for the second night in a row. I call that a win.

Had a scare last night where he thought someone was in the house, though. I think that Janson being loose is getting to him.

 

From Group Text: Minho [6:32 AM]: At work. Early shift sucks.

It freaks me out too.

Did you see anyone in the house?

 

From: Thomas [6:40 AM]:  No. I checked, and Vince’s security team didn’t see anyone enter the house either.

 

From Group Text: Minho [6:45 AM]: Do you really think it was just nerves, or do you think its something else?

 

From: Thomas [6:50 AM]:  You mean like before?

 

From Group Text: Minho [7:00 AM]: Yeah.

 

From Group Text: Gally [7:01 AM]: WILL YOU SHANKS STOP BLOWING UP MY PHONE?! Its 7 in the morning, go the shuck to sleep!

 

* * *

 

**_Six months ago._ **

 

Minho spoke enthusiastically about his new spot on the cross-country team as they walked down the busy street in the college town. Having never run for fun before, the experience was new and exciting. He felt energized and couldn’t wait to get started.

 Newt was one of the only people that didn’t judge Minho for the decision, or ask him why he would want to run after doing so much of it in the maze.

 

Speaking of Newt, the other male was somewhat silent on their way through town. This was not out of the ordinary as Newt was more of a processor of deep thought, but recently he just seemed a bit less engaged than normal. Minho chocked it up to the stress of moving into their first year of college. He could relate. There was so much to think about and worry over.

 

As he prattled on about the coach’s perspective on his long distance running training, he didn’t see Newt had stopped keeping up with him. By the time he noticed, the other boy was already a few paces behind and staring off across the busy street with a socked look on his face.

 

Minho’s eyes followed his, immediately on alert. However, his gaze only met some passersby and a few small businesses. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

 

“Newt? You okay, man?” Minho asked, moving closer, still keeping his eyes trained across the street, trying to notice anything out of place or possible threats.

Within the second it took him to realize something was wrong, Newt was already halfway across the street and barely dodging traffic. His eyes and head were fixed on something unseen, and his legs were hustling as they jogged across the asphalt.

 

There was a loud honk, the screeching of tired and Minho’s own scream as a car nearly collided with his friend. This seemed to wake the blond from his trance because he jumped at the sight of the vehicle, only managing to put his hand out as if it would protect him from two tons of speeding steel.

 

It stopped just inches from Newt’s legs.

 

Minho’s heart raced and practically fell out of his chest when he saw the silver vehicle, driver still flipping the young men the bird, begin moving again and drove off.

 

“Jesus, Slinthead! You almost got hit by a car!” Minho shouted, dragging his friend back to the protection of the sidewalk. “What the hell were you thinking?”

 

Newt rubbed his face, still ashen from the incident. “Did you see him?” Minho admitted that was not the response he was expecting. He wanted an apology, or a thank you for pulling him out of traffic, not whatever this was.

 

“See who?!”

 

Newt paused a moment and looked around the block, seemingly unsatisfied in his search. When his eyes landed back on Minho’s he stated with total sincerity, “Alby.”


	5. Something New to Swallow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I am very grateful that I can continue this fic. In this chapter, we learn a but more about Glade life before, and focus a bit more on how some of the other Gladers are coping after.
> 
>  
> 
> NOTE: this is a work of fiction and involves themes of mental health as well as violence. If you are in any way triggered by these themes, please do not read.
> 
> Thank you for reading.

  ** _Present._**

****

Of all the places he wanted to be at the moment, this was at the top of the list. Thomas sifted through piles and piles of documents stacked high, stuffed into those cardboard boxes he had seen in accounting offices. The room was like a Jenga puzzle of boxes, folders and file stacks, and even after hours had passed, he was only finished perusing a small corner of the treasure trove.

He had plans to go straight home after work today and just hang out on the couch, maybe he would get some time at the gym if he was lucky. However, around lunch, he received a text from Teresa telling him to come to Vince’s office when his shift had ended. He had no idea what was in store. When Teresa had walked him into the tiny office file room, and allowed him free reign, he couldn’t help but smile. Tucked away in this tiny room were the files and documents recovered from WCKD’s computers and confidential office storage. Hidden away in these pages were secrets ready to be told and answers to questions he had asked since childhood. His mind was whirring excitedly, throwing mental puzzle pieces together. The feelings of excitement stayed strong, and he looked forward to holding each piece of paper in his fingers.

It wasn’t until Vince came to check on his and Teresa’s progress that he realized how many hours had passed by.

_Dammit._

 

* * *

 

Newt’s eyes darted back and forth between the television and his phone. If anyone asked what he was doing, he would have responded that he was watching reruns of some crime drama, as he had been doing since he got home from school and work. However, if questioned on the show further, he would not be able to name the episode or the plot, as his mind was elsewhere. It was now nearing 8:00 o’clock and he had not heard from Thomas all day. The last time they spoke to one another was in the morning when they saw each other off, and the brunette should have been home hours ago. Newt of course texted, but did not receive a response. He told himself that Thomas’s phone must have been off and that there was nothing to worry about, but it didn’t take away the painful feeling in his chest.

So there he remained, watching the screen and trying for the umpteenth time not to check his phone, and if anyone asked, he was having a normal night in.

 

_If anyone asked._

 

One of the struggles Newt experienced in the years prior to the moments that lead him to make that near-fatal choice so many months ago, was the fact that he had no one to speak to about the way he had been feeling. His therapist used terms like “social support” and “network” when he described the crushing loneliness that plagued him daily in the months following his hospitalization; as if having an outlet wasn’t the most obvious things in the world. He had “friends”. He had loved ones. He had Thomas. But, telling them what was actually going on in his mind, or them reaching out to ask didn’t occur. It was like the telephone lines of their relationship were not plugged in on both ends- him not reaching out, and them not leaning in to listen.

Newt recalled those rare moments of shock when someone did ask if he was okay, when he must have been wearing his exhaustion too obviously in his face or blank eyes. Those moments rarely came from friends, but instead came from random coworkers, and once from a professor that wasn’t even teaching his class. The woman just happened to be passing him in the hallway and noticed something in his fragile state that compelled her to check in on him. It made him wonder that if complete strangers were able to notice the signs of decaying life within him….why couldn’t his friends?

He sighed himself out of his musings before taking one more look to his side. His phone was a daunting mass on the couch staring up at him with its shiny black screen and impressive wealth of connections to the outside world.  

In the past, he had sought to fill the loneliness and void of activity by calling a friend, but it was for naught. People were always too busy or too oblivious to Newt’s pain to have time to spend a few hours hanging out or to speak on the phone, if they even answered the call at all. It was frustrating to say the least. Minho always had practice or class, Winston was elbow deep in medical journals and thesis papers, Frypan was at work or out volunteering, and Gally just needed to sign off from technology sometimes, choosing not to answer any calls for days. Thomas of course, was always trying to “save the world”, and had barely have the time to focus on his boyfriend.

The feelings of abandonment or being forgotten by those he loved the most had hurt. In what seemed like all of Newt’s relationships, his standard or strength of the love he felt for the other individuals was doomed to be unrequited. Perhaps that meant he was the broken one.

God, he was a needy and pathetic insect. But, as his therapist instructed, he needed to reach out when he was feeling these things as to better cope. So, he did.

Taking a deep breath he picked up the phone and brought the screen to life with a touch. He chose the first name on his “recent call” list that didn’t include Thomas, and he pressed the “call” icon. The phone began to ring.

 

“Hello?” The deep voice answered, somewhat out of breath.

 

“Hey, Minho?” Newt responded, trying to make his words come out less shaken.

 

“Newt? What’s going on?”

 

“Uh…Nothing.” He lied. “I was just seeing what you were up to… and maybe if you wanted to hang out.”

 

“Oh, I am helping some of the freshman with weight training.” Minho started, and automatically, Newt felt the disappointment bubble in his throat. He was preparing a goodbye and considering whom else to call when the other man’s next words shocked him. “But, I can come over in a few minutes, once we are done. Sounds good?”

 

Newt thinks he must have been in shock because he found himself tripping over his response, realizing that he hadn’t even thought o what they would do once Minho got to the house, given that he was expecting to be denied. Before long, he mumbled out some kind of “okay thanks, see you soon” before slipping into panic to get the house semi-guest ready. At the moment the cabinets were devoid of clean plates to eat off, as he and Thomas hadn’t done dishes in a while. He moved into action, still surprised that Minho had taken him up on his offer to come over. Good feelings washed over him, and he sent Thomas a text telling him that Minho was stopping by.

 When Newt answered the door not an hour later, he got more than he expected. Minho was at the door holding up a bag of take-out, and on either side of him were Gally and Frypan. Suddenly Newt was very glad he washed all those plates- they were going to need them.

 Without a care, the trio strolled into the house past Newt, Frypan giving him a friendly clap on the back on his towards the kitchen. At some point he must have taken the food from Minho and was now spreading the plastic containers across the counter, and reaching for the newly cleaned plates from a cabinet. Minho hovered around Frypan waiting for the moment to grab his plate, clearly starving from his workout. Newt tried to take a breath and not get too overwhelmed at the forced socializing, and fought to recall when having his friends over was normal, and didn’t cause the anxiety he was feeling at that moment. He felt stupid for a moment, as he wanted company, but now that he had it, he didn’t know what to do with it.

 Gally was on the couch within seconds of entering, sprawling out and grabbing control of the television remote. With one glance over to the blonde, he made eye contact, and gave a pat to the cushion beside him, inviting him over wordlessly. Newt followed his direction, happy to get out of his awkward stance in the foyer. Once on the couch, he felt Gally’s arm stretch around him in his big-brother way, as the larger man flipped through the channels for something that intrigued him. Before long, Frypan was shoving a steaming plate of Mexican food under his nose, which Newt took gratefully. He couldn’t fathom the idea of idea of eating, but not wanting to feel ungrateful for his friend’s generosity, he made a show of poking the food around the plate.

 The four of them sat together, spread across the couch and floor, comfortable to be in each other’s company. With little ease, Newt allowed himself to smile, admitting that for the moment he was content, while still fighting back the dread that his anxiety would soon return.

 “Newt, have you been reading these?” Frypan asked without looking at him, choosing instead to focus on the stack of thick books balanced out of place on the bookshelf. The one on top had a sweetly carved flat wooden bookmark placed between the pages. Tommy had given him the books as part of his “get well” gift while he was in the hospital. Since he was stuck there for a few weeks while receiving treatment, his beautifully thoughtful boyfriend bought him the entire book series, knowing that Newt had his eye on them since he saw the story advertised in a bookstore on a date. They helped pass the time as he healed. The bookmark was a gift from Chuck.

 

_Chuck._

 

A cold freeze settled in his heart at the thought of the cherub faced youth that was under Newt’s charge in the Glade. Half the time the boy was terrified, and the other half he was inquisitive as hell. Newt loved any push for answers or solution towards solving the maze, and so did Alby. They were probably the only two Gladers that the younger boy’s questions did not annoy. Chuck even gave him the little carved bookmark as a gift; a simple “thank you” for being his friend. Newt did everything he could to protect Chuck and the other Gladers and solve the maze like WCKD asked. He felt like he, Alby, Minho, and Gally had done all they could to control the elements of their little patch of grass within the hellish walls of the maze. However, it seemed it was not enough. As Alby had died, so had Chuck. At some point in the raid of the facility, when fire and gunshots rang out through the Glade, and explosions reverberated through the miles of WCKD’s tunnels below them, Chuck had been killed.  The official report stated that Chuck had possibly been killed when he was caught in the cross fire of the FBI and WCKD.

 Newt swallowed audibly, and nodded. “Yeah, I am still working through the final book. It’s been good. Can’t wait to see how it ends.” That was a fib. In the months after he left the hospital, he loved curling up with Tommy on the couch and plodding through those books. However, recently he couldn’t even pick the books up. He had thought about finishing them and wished he had the energy, but he had lost interest.

More importantly, he hated himself more for forgetting Chuck. He had been so focused on himself in the last few years and so focused on his guilt for not being able to save Alby that he forgot the others he failed to save. He forgot Chuck.

 He failed Chuck just like he failed the others in the maze. In the end, his failures over those three years meant nothing as it was Thomas that got them all out of that Hell, and he did it within three days.

 Like a gift from God, the alarm on his phone reminding him to regularly take his pills went off, breaking the tense silence.

 

“I’ll be right back.” He blurted, taking off towards the bathroom.

 

 Behind him, the three remaining men watched him go.

 

 “Was it something I said?” Frypan asked the room.

 

 Minho looked down at his phone and sent another text. Both Gally and Frypan’s phones buzzed from the group chat. Gally bit the inside of his cheek and looked towards the discarded plate on the floor beside the couch, still full of food. “You shanks might want to text Greenie and let him know that Newt’s still not eating.” 

 

Inside the bathroom, Newt stared at his reflection in the mirror and counted backwards from ten. Slowly, he breathed between each count and brought himself to calm. He could see how the tension in his shoulders bunched and how his heavy breaths made his chest expand with each ebb and flow. At some point, when the fog of panic cleared, the frustration set in. The familiar feeling of the lump in his throat and the prickle behind his eyes, returned after what felt like so long.

He didn’t understand. These feelings had gone away after he started treatment. It had taken some time for the pills and the learning from therapy to have an effect but once it clicked, he felt the difference. Now, it was like he couldn’t even remember all the progress he had made, or if it even mattered. Had it all been a temporary fluke? Were the good feelings just a high caused by the fall of WCKD?

He wiped a hand across his face and then reached automatically for the orange medication bottle on the sink. After shaking the small pill out of the bottle, he barely gave it a second glance before attempting to throw it back into his throat. Halfway to his mouth, he stopped. With a curious eyebrow raised, he stared at it in his open palm for a moment. Something was strange. He pulled the pill closer into his line of sight, and then flipped it over. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was…off.

His phone buzzed on the sink and cursory glance told him that it was Thomas. The text read, “Comin home now babe”. That was all it took for Newt’s mind to clear. He threw the pill into his mouth and swallowed it dry. He needed to get better, for himself, but mostly for Tommy.

  

* * *

 

Thomas stared down at the texts as they were coming in. Teresa gave him a ride back to his house, which he was thankful for given that it was dark and because Vince’s office was miles from the campus and his home.

 

Some time ago he received the first text from Minho stating that he got a call from Newt. Knowing that it would take some time to wrap up things at Vince’s as well as get home, he encouraged Minho to visit, and ensure that Newt ate. Before long, more texts followed, from Frypan, Gally and Minho with commentary on the night. The last image to appear on the group chat was a selfie from Gally. The tall blonde had his middle finger raised at the camera and a deep eyebrowy-scowl on his face as he stood in front of Thomas’s beloved, framed Mets jersey. It made Thomas smile. Despite how the visit started as duty to their loved one, Thomas was beyond excited to spend some time with the group. Today, although it was filled with fascination, was still exhausting, and he wanted nothing more than to recharge.

 

The car pulled up to his and Newt’s shared home and he politely invited Theresa inside. He didn’t know the girl from WCKD well, and even when he worked for Ava Paige he didn’t remember if they interacted, but she had been nothing but kind and open to him. Despite the horrors they experienced, she was ever curious about the cult and all the events from the Glade, and they shared in their desire to know more as well as to ensure that everyone involved received justice. He was a stranger to her, but she invited him into her world and allowed him to see all of Vince’s acquired files and involved him in the legal team’s research.

 

They stood on the porch, about to walk in when Thomas held the doorknob, but did not turn it. Theresa noticed the question in his eyes, and the hesitation. The male had been quiet on the drive to his house, but the spinning gears in his head could be heard from miles away.

 

“What is it?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

 

Thomas licked his lips and his eyes looked everywhere but hers. “Theresa… I want to see this through. Ava’s followers and Jansen, they need to be brought to justice…”

 

Theresa didn’t seem to understand. Wasn’t that was they were doing this whole time, and the reason for going through Vince’s files? “Yeah, Thomas. That’s what we’re doing-“

 

“No, I know that. But what I’m asking is, why are you helping us?”

 

Theresa took a step back and considered him for a moment. Did he still not trust her? “Thomas. I-…” She started, but reconsidered, pulling her own thoughts together. “Ava lied to all of us.”

 

Thomas watched her curiously.

 

“Ava… She told me we were going to save the world.” When she looked at him her eyes were teary and she shrugged with a self-deprecating smile that told him all he needed to know. She felt just as duped as he did when he was in the bunker. “She told us it was necessary, and that for the good of the many we needed to experiment on a few… I believed her. We all did. I hated watching everyone struggle and die behind those screens but we thought it was for the greater good. I watched it all… And I watched you Thomas.”

 

Thomas’s eyes widened with that and he raised his eyebrows, begging her wordlessly to go on.

 

“I saw everything you did for the Gladers, and I know you are a good person. I know you can help us… I’m not helping you, Thomas. I’m asking _you_ to help _us_.”

  

* * *

 

Inside the house Gally shuffled the deck and passed out another round of cards to everyone around the table.

 

“Alright… All Glade rules apply. No cheating. Minho.” He gave the smiling man next to him a pointed look before pulling his own cards to his chest to hide them from view.

 

They were the fifth round into a game of Glader poker, which was similar to regular poker, except as no one in the Glade ever really learned how to play, they had to make up some of the rules on their own. It was a great way to pass the time on rainy days in the Homestead.

 

Newt considered his cards, twisting his lips as he tried to plan his next moves, when behind him the front door opened. Thomas was home, and Newt already felt his heart lighten before his boyfriend even stepped foot across the threshold. He set his cards down and went to meet the other man at the door when he noticed the other person behind him. Thomas did not seem to notice his pause because the blonde soon felt himself being pulled into muscular arms, with a soft nose being buried into his neck.

 

“Hey, Newt.” The brunette murmured into his shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m late Babe.”

Newt hugged back, grateful for the attention and the warm embrace. When Thomas finally pulled back, he kept one arm still around Newt as he lead him back towards the coffee table and couch where the other Gladers sat, cards still in hand. The group all greeted their friend, their not so subtle eyes focused on the woman still in the doorway. Newt imagined their surprise matched his own.

 

“Guys, this is Theresa.” Thomas gestured for her to join them, to which she hesitantly stepped forward. “She works with Vince.” Minho and Gally gave a polite nod and Frypan waved and yelled out a welcoming “hello!”

 

Newt looked over to see Theresa fidgeting and probably as uncomfortable as he was in the situation. He felt a moment of pity. She may have been in the bunker during the entire time they were being experimented on in the maze, but so was Thomas. Now, she seemed like she actually wanted to help, and Thomas trusted her. Maybe, he would need to give her a chance, or at the very least, try not to make her feel like crap in his own home.

 

“Theresa, we were playing Glader poker.” He started, catching her by surprise. “Would you like to play a round?” Within a moment he knew he made the right decision as her face lit up and she smiled, walking closer to the coffee table and having a seat on the floor. Newt handed her his cards and left it to Frypan to explain the rules, while he took Thomas by the hand into the kitchen. He knew she would be all right when laughing immediately burst from the group as Frypan reminded everyone of Gally’s tendency to be a sore loser.

 

“Tommy,-” Newt started. The words ‘where were you’ were on the tip of his tongue, before Thomas’s own darted between his lips. The two large hands framed either side of his face, his thumb caressing his cheek. Newt leaned in, taking a hold of those hands and pushing his hips to slot into the hollow of Thomas’s hips. After a brief moment, they pulled apart, and they held each other’s gaze, lovingly. “Tommy…”

 

_God, his Tommy._

 

“Newt, Baby, I am so sorry.” Thomas’s face read his guilt and Newt couldn’t believe the depth of his apology. “I promise, I will text next time. I am an idiot and I completely lost track of time… Are you okay, did you eat?”

 

“Tommy, its okay. Minho brought them all over and we’ve been playing cards for the night. I can handle a few hours alone, you know.” The fact that he almost lost his mind waiting for even a hint of Thomas’s whereabouts was put aside for the moment.

 

Thomas smiled in return and they joined the group in the living room again some time later. Within the hour, Newt was dealt back into the game and held a hand of cards while he sat between Thomas’s legs on the floor. They were having fun as a group, and everyone seemed happy. From time to time Thomas would press his chin atop Newt’s head and look down at his cards, only to make a comment or two. Now, he had his arms around the blonde’s middle and he was staring at the pale dimples on his love’s cheeks. He remembered when the pale skin was covered in purple bruises or dirt from the Glade’s gardens more times than it was healed and clean. The righteous fury at the men and women that did that to his Newt, and to the other Gladers, steamed beneath his skin. For once, he felt one step ahead of Jansen and Ava’s other cronies, now that he had his hands on Vince’s materials. It was like seeing the finish line in sight and he was glad all this would be over soon and put behind them.

 

As Theresa put down a winning hand, everyone around the table groaned. Gally collected the cards and reshuffled, while Minho explained why there was a rule about the Jack card being set as the highest card in the game, which was one hundred percent due to Jeff losing one of the cards to the Glade goat. As there were only three remaining Jack cards from that point on, it became the most rare, and thus highest counted. Everyone around the table smiled as they remembered Jeff’s losing tussle with the farm animal, and the game went on.

 

Newt, smiled too, however he was still unable to shake the guilt that ate away at his insides whenever a fellow Glader was mentioned. Just as he looked up, over his new hand of cards and towards the empty space beside Teresa, he saw a familiar face hunched over the coffee table. Seeming out of place, dressed in filthy rags with unkempt curly hair and a face smudged in dirt, the boy looked back at him.

_Chuck looked back at him._

 

Their eyes met and Newt turned back to his cards to continued playing.

 

* * *

 

They were settling in for the night and while Theresa had left a short time ago, their three guests had lingered, sprawled across the couch. Newt had a slight smile on his face as Thomas was rubbing his back in slow circles, keeping him trapped in the space between his knees. Newt melted under Thomas’s attention. The rain cloud around him had lifted for the moment, and he wished that his friends were not currently sitting a few feet from him so he could lean further into his boyfriend. Hell, if Gally weren’t oblivious of personal bubbles and sitting so close to him at the moment, he would have buried his face into Tommy’s kissable chest tried to absorb him into his being. For now though, he would have to deal with just the light touches and attention, and Thomas was all to eager to give it.  He was always envious of his love’s ability to put one hundred percent of his feelings and passion into something so easily; even something as simple as holding him on the couch was a gesture of true love.

 

“Hey, Thomas. You said that Theresa brought you a bunch of pictures from the Glade.” Frypan asked innocently, breaking the silence. “Do you think I could take a look?” Newt hated himself for bristling at the request. It was a stupid and bitter reaction to such an innocent question. Frypan was curious, and he had every right to be. He had been just as much a victim of the maze and of WCKD as he was, and he was of course seeking answers. Thomas paused and considered the question. He of course, was carefully watching Newt’s response, and Newt in turn, noticed. The blonde was less than happy about being treated as if he was made of glass. However…

 

_He_ was _made of glass. Dull, broken, fragile, glass._

 

He forced himself to fox the situation. “Yeah. She did.” Newt said feigning calm, giving Thomas a light pat on the knee. “Tommy, I think we moved them to the kitchen, right?”

 

Thomas accepted Newt’s approval, and nodded, getting up and moving to retrieve the photos. When he returned, he laid them out on the coffee table in front of the group, and immediately, Minho, Gally and Frypan moved in closer. Gally lifted a hand hesitantly and touched one of the photos closer to him. When Newt leaned in, he could see it was a photo of Ben, one of the more senior Gladers they lost.

 

“How did they take some of these?” Minho asked, flipping a photo of himself running through the maze over so they could see.

 

“They had cameras everywhere. That’s how I knew how bad things got, and went up into the Glade.” Thomas admitted guiltily, although they all had heard it before.

 

Newt picked up one of the pictures that immediately become his favorite. It was a picture of him and Thomas. Their arms were linked and leaning in close as Thomas appeared to be laughing while Newt watched on, a bright toothy smile on his face. It was a sweet moment between the two and he wished he remembered it better. He showed it to Thomas who immediately brightened, and they shared a smile. The photo was quickly separated from the others and tucked away behind Newt on the TV stand so they could remember to frame it.

 

Some time went by with only a few comments shared between the group as they studied the pictures. Some were fun and nostalgic, while others were reminders that the Glade they loved was indeed a prison.

 

One particular picture was causing Thomas’s mind to buzz. He sat with the picture close to him, and a finger on his lips and a deep frown on his forehead, the kind he got when he was worried and desperately trying to solve a puzzle. Newt could practically hear the gears in his head whirring.

 

“What is it, Love?” Newt asked, brushing his hand on Thomas’s arm. Thomas looked up from the photo, and his dark eyes flitted back and forth between the photo and Newt’s curious eyes. With a sigh and a desperate flick of his tongue over his lips, an anxious tick, he flipped the photo over so Newt could view it.

 

It seemed less colorful than the others. The green and browns of the glade were nowhere to be seen and instead, the grey walls of the bunker surrounded the two figures in the photo and the cage-like structure of the box was behind them. One of the figures, Newt recognized instantly as Janson. The larger man was walking with his head held high and he could practically see the spring in his step. Beside him was a young man Newt barely recognized. His hair was a mess, and his frame was skeletal. The boy was looking down and appeared broken, being led away from the box and the safety of the Glade, and towards a different kind of prison. Newt recognized the scene, as it was similar to the many times Janson had taken him from the Glade at night, leading him through the halls of the bunker. He wanted to ask who the shank in the photo was, but he had a feeling he already knew. He just didn’t understand why he didn’t recognize himself.

 

“How often did it happen?” Thomas whispered, his eyes practically brimming with tears. Newt’s heart broke at the sight, unable to respond, knowing he would only break Thomas’ heart further. Instead, he chose to frame Thomas’s face with his hands and kiss him on the forehead, holding him close.

 

Newt knew that while Thomas was in the bunker underneath the maze, the comings and goings of the Gladers were being filmed. He did not know that there was some footage that even Thomas not given clearance to see. His and Janson’s little forced rendezvous were clearly some of that footage.

“We’re safe now, Thomas.” He breathed, keeping him close. Thomas moved deeper into his embrace, not caring that his friends were seeing him like this. Minho of course, recognized the need for the two to share their moment and slapped Gally on the leg, signaling them all to stand and make their way home.

 

They said they’re goodbyes’ and Newt and Thomas agreed that they would allow them and any other Gladers to look at the photos anytime, so long as they stayed in the home in case Theresa needed them for more research. No one mentioned anything when Gally no so subtly snuck a photo of the original Gladers- him, Newt, Alby, and Minho – into his pocket.

 

It was an emotional rollercoaster of a night, and Newt was happy to say he was going to end the night feeling better than he had in months.

 

* * *

 

_Two Years Ago._

 

The sound of Janson’s watch jingling as it flew by his face over and over again was the consistent precursor to the ringing in his ears after the strike fell onto his face. It was a faithful and true constant that had served as his only stabilizer while the rest of the room spun on its axis. Newt’s cheek was smarting and pulsed with each heartbeat. The cut where the blows landed most of their power had bled mercilessly, as face wounds do, and his teeth rattled every time Janson’s open palm made impact.

 

“Say it again!” Janson screamed in his face again, so close that Newt felt his hot breath on his nose.

 

After an hour of Janson’s ridicule and demands, Newt had become numb. The fight in him had remained angry and red all the while, but the knowledge that he would not win and that keeping the fire tucked away for now, was the only thing that would help him get out of this situation and back into the Glade kept him steady. During all of his “sessions” with Janson, the childlike desire to go back to the Glade and curl up where he knew he was safe was strong and the frustration at being so far away from his safe place and his Tommy, had tears prickling his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

 

_Tommy._

 

Hours ago, Newt was strapped to the chair in the middle of the room, as usual. However, this time Thomas, who was supposed to be helping Janson in the testing of subject A5, aka Newt, had broken the rules and decided to, in Jansons’s words, “be a hero.” After seeing the boy locked in the room, immobilized and alone, Thomas leapt into action and began to undo the buckles keeping him strapped to the wooden chair. The spark of hope in Newt’s eyes was beautiful to Thomas, who had been watching Newt and the other Gladers through screens for a while now. Thomas was not like the rest of WCKD in that he seemed to actually care about what happened to the young boys that were sent into the maze. Over the years Newt had known him, Thomas was always one to sneak them snacks and tools, and sometimes, he would even stay with them while they were receiving medical treatment from their torment in the maze. In the brief exchanges they had, Newt fell head over heels in love with the lab worker, and as fate would have it, Thomas was falling for him too. In those short moments they had together, the two of them had graduated to holding hands and sometimes even kissing. It was an innocent and beautiful love, but it was dangerous, as it would jeopardize them both, as well as any of Thomas’s ongoing plans to free Newt and the other Gladers.

 

“Don’t worry Newt, I’ll get you out of here.” Thomas breathed heavily, his body and mind in full panic mode as he sought to free his love. Both Newt’s legs were free by the time the blonde saw the door to is prison swing open violently, smashing against of opposite wall. Thomas, barely had time to turn around before he was grabbed and dragged from the room by WCKD members dressed in riot gear. In a flurry of motion, Thomas flailed and kicked, trying desperately to get free and make his way back to Newt, who was screaming his name.

 

The sounds Thomas made were animalistic and raw as he fought the multiple hands violently dragging him out of the concrete chamber. He screamed Newt’s name as hot tears trailed down his face, but was unsuccessful in his attempts to escape. As quickly as it happened, it was over, leaving Newt alone in the room. Still in shock and grief, he barely heard the tapping of Janson’s shoes as they stepped closer to him. At some point, the man whispered something after bending in closer, which Newt could not understand. At that point, the beating started.

 

Now, hours after Thomas was dragged away to who-knew-where, Janson continued to send his head snapping to the side with each hit. By now, the tears had dried and what remained was only pain.

 

“Say. It. Again.” Janson seethed, hand raised for another blow. Newt swallowed and felt his lips crack as he opened his mouth to speak.

 

“WCKD…is…good.” He whispered.

 

No hit came. Instead an unexpected, cool hand brushed the untouched side of his face, causing Newt to flinch.

 

“Good boy. Now say it again.”

 

Newt closed his eyes and repeated the words he was going to be reciting over and over again for the remainder of their session. “WCKD is good.”

Janson smiled and something in Newt died.

 

Later, Newt would come to find out that Thomas was stripped of his title, access to WCKD’s labs and resources, and was no longer a member of the bunker’s elite. Instead, he had been thrown into the Glade with all the other boys, and Newt. It was Thomas, with his knowledge of WCKD’s compound and methods that helped them escape the maze in the end. Thomas saved Newt, and they were inseparable since.


End file.
